


Fix It

by jailikechai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Humor, M/M, familiar!Cas, married!destiel, special appearance by a chicken from 1924, temporary animal death, witch!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jailikechai/pseuds/jailikechai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a crappy witch, Castiel is a cat (sometimes), and Sam Winchester (not the one who's Dean's brother) gets into trouble.</p>
<p>Confused? So is Samantha Winchester's friend when he asks her for help solving a problem and she suggests turning to her magically inclined uncles for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix It

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird little story. It may not make much sense, but cracked me up.
> 
> I originally wrote this with OCs, but I couldn't stop thinking of Dean and Cas playing the roles of the witch/familiar pair, and Sam having a daughter who's a sassy troublemaker.

Devon’s head tilts as he studies the oddly shaped lump bulging out about a third of the way down the otherwise sleek, slim ball python curled up under the coffee table. Sam reaches out to prod at the part of the snake’s tail that she can reach, but the snake lazily shifts away from her touch.

“This is bad,” Devon announces, the tight squeezing feeling in his gut reminiscent of an angry snake strangling his intestines.

“Ya think?” Sam snorts, attempting to poke the python again. Devon grabs her hand and yanks it away.

“Stop that! You might make it slither away or something and then we’ll never catch it,” he hisses. Sam rolls her eyes.

“I think she’s in a food coma,” she observes, crouching down to get a better view under the table.

“This is really bad,” Devon groans, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yup,” Sam agrees. “What’re you gonna tell Mel?” Devon responds with a strange, choked sound somewhere between a sob and a wail. Sam lifts an eyebrow as she turns her head to look up at him. “I don’t think she’s gonna go for that.”

“What am I supposed to say!” Devon really does wail. “Sorry, I lost your pet snake and it ate your psycho bird? ‘Cause that’s gonna go over real well!”

“How’d you think she caught the bird, anyway?” Sam reflects, leaning forward and stroking the snake’s head.

“Mel clips his wings so he can’t fly,” Devon explains, then swallows. “Or… couldn’t, anyway.”

“That sucks.” Sam gently eases the python out from under the table, cradling it while it wraps itself slowly around her arms. She’s right, it does look kind of sleepy. Sam strokes a finger down the shades of brown spotted on its back. “She’s so pretty.”

“It’s a murderer,” Devon snaps irritably. “It _ate_ Cherry.”

“Yeah, well, what’d you expect? If someone just left a delicious chicken dinner lying around where anyone could get it, and you were really hungry, you’re telling me you wouldn’t eat it?”

“No,” Devon scoffs.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you eat candy bars out of the trash,” Sam replies blandly. Devon crosses his arms over his chest and sniffs. Sam rolls her eyes dramatically again. “That bird probably had it coming, anyway. You said it yourself, he was totally psycho. And Cherry was a dumb name.”

“Ok, can we focus on the bigger picture, here?” Devon snaps.

“Right. Sure. So, your girlfriend’s snake ate her bird. What’re you gonna do about it?” Sam crosses the room towards the snake’s tank in the far corner, and attempts to encourage it to slide off her arms and onto the branch in the enclosure. The snake unhappily clings to Sam’s arms.

“I don’t know. That’s why I called you. You’re supposed to be the smart one.” Devon moves to help push the snake into the tank, then slams the lid closed as the snake slithers into a warm corner. Sam scoffs.

“You’re pathetic. Man up and tell your girlfriend you killed her pets while she was on vacation.”

“Pet. Singular.”

“Yeah, that’s so much better.”

Devon turns and looks at his friend with the biggest, most pitiful pleading eyes he can muster in his current distress. Sam rolls her eyes again.

“Ugh. You want to talk to my uncles? I bet they can fix it,” Sam offers.

“You mean your crazy Uncle Dean?”

“He’s not actually crazy, you know.”

“You want me to solve the problem of my girlfriend’s dead bird with voodoo?”

Sam whirls on him, and Devon stumbles back as step.

“First,” Sam holds up her index finger demonstratively, “it would be hoodoo, not voodoo. And second, Uncle Dean practices black magic, not hoodoo. He’s a witch.”

“Ok, you want me to solve the problem of my girlfriend’s dead bird with _black magic_?”

“Hey, if you don’t like my suggestions, stop asking for them.”

Devon groans. This summer is not turning out like he had imagined. It was supposed to be his last glorious fling after high school and before college; long, hot, lazy days spent side by side with his beautiful girlfriend, Melanie, as they explored the meaning of young love. Instead, Melanie’s parents whisked her away to Europe as her graduation present, and Devon was left behind to take care of Mel’s pets.

At least Sam isn’t going anywhere. Samantha Winchester has been a permanent fixture in Devon’s life since they were five and pulling each others hair in Kindergarten. Sam is solid, and grounded, and dependable, and Devon’s not sure how he’s going to hold himself together when he leaves for college and Sam’s not with him.

Even though she suggests things like consulting her crazy uncles as a solution to the current dead bird problem.

~~

Of course, about half an hour later, Devon and Sam are walking down Ash Street, which Devon thinks is an incredibly unlikely place for a witch to live. It’s just a long, straight road that runs behind the library, lined with little bland houses on little green plots of land. There’s nothing witchy about it, and Devon is a little disappointed.

“What, do you want them to live in some hovel in an enchanted forest, or something? This is Kansas, not Neverland,” Sam says when Devon expresses his doubts about their location.

“I think they live next to Mrs. Jenkins,” Devon says, looking at the little grey house with maroon shutters where their tenth grade science teacher lives. It turns out that Sam’s uncles live in a little grey house with green shutters, actually two doors down from Mrs. Jenkins.

Sam rings the doorbell, and Devon picks at a loose thread on the hem of his tshirt.

“Uh,” Devon grunts a moment later, when the front door swings open to reveal a slender black cat with unsettlingly blue eyes looking up at them intently. The tip of the cat’s tail twitches.

“Hi, Cas,” Sam says to the cat politely. “Is Uncle Dean home?”

The cat turns and slinks away into the house. Sam follows it in, grabbing Devon by the edge of his t-shirt sleeve and tugging him after her. Devon jumps when there’s a loud clanging of metal against metal somewhere towards the back of the house, accompanied by a great deal of very creative, colorful swearing. Sam rolls her eyes and pulls Devon down the hallway.

The source of the crashing and cursing is a tall, broad shouldered man sitting on the floor and apparently engaged in battle with a set of uncooperative copper cook wear and a small kitchen cabinet. He looks younger than Devon thought he would be, although he fits Sam’s descriptions in every other way. His eyes are the same startling shade of green as Sam’s, his hair is sandy brown, his skin spattered with freckles that rival Devon’s own, and he’s dressed in a plain green t-shirt and worn jeans. Devon’s once again disappointed by the distinct lack of witchy-ness.

The cat jumps over a large stock pot and lands on Uncle Dean’s lap, purring loudly. He rubs his head against Dean’s arm and blinks his blue eyes up at the man. Dean looks down at the cat and grimaces.

“This is your fault,” Dean tells the cat moodily. “I told you not to take all of the pots out of the cabinet, but no, you just had to have that one saucepan that we never use and take everything out to get at it.”

The cat lets out a deep rumble of a meow in response.

“Oh yeah?” Dean leers wickedly at the cat. “I’ll show you -”

Sam coughs. Uncle Dean freezes and looks towards the doorway, his eyes wide and startled. Sam smiles and waves. Devon pathetically copies her.

“Hi, Uncle Dean.”

“Oh. Hey, Sammy.”

~~

Dean peers up at his niece, standing in the doorway next to a tall, gangly looking boy with a bad sunburn and a worse haircut. He takes a deep breath to settle himself and makes a mental note to get back at Cas for that comment later. Sometime when they’re not on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, preferably when Cas isn’t a cat, and absolutely when don’t have a teenage audience watching them. They’re also going to have to talk about letting said teenagers into the house unannounced. Dean runs a hand through his hair.

Sam grins at him and reaches a hand forward to help tug Dean to his feet. She’s a good kid, Dean thinks proudly. Petite and kind like her mom, intelligent and brave like her dad, with a dose of dry wit and street smarts that Dean likes to think comes from her uncles.

“I’m not buying any cookies, or magazines, or whatever you kids are selling nowadays,” Dean growls. Sam rolls her eyes.

“When have you ever?” she says with a wry smile.

“Hey, there was that one year that you were in Girl Scouts, remember,” Dean replies accusingly. A pot clangs into the tile behind him, and a tiny puff of displaced air brushes Dean’s back.

“ _I_ certainly remember,” Cas rumbles, his arms snaking around Dean’s waist and his chin hooking over his shoulder. “Dean’s waist has never recovered.” He pokes at the squish around Dean’s middle and Dean scowls.

“Oh. Hey, your friend looks like he’s gonna pass out,” Dean observes, jerking his head towards unfortunate-haircut-boy frozen in place in the doorway, jaw slack as he stares at Cas. Sam turns to look and scrunches her nose disapprovingly at the stunned expression on her friend’s face.

“Geez, Devon, grow a pair, would ya? These are my uncles, Dean and Castiel,” she introduces, waving a hand vaguely in the men’s direction. The other teenager swallows.

“You. Uh. You never mentioned that one of your uncles was a cat,” he gulps.

“He’s not a cat. Cas is Dean’s _familiar_ ,” Sam explains.

“I don’t know what that means,” the boy states. Sam rolls her eyes. Dean wonders if her eyes ever hurt from doing that so often.

“It means he’s a really crappy cat,” Dean says, ignoring Cas’ offended sniff, “but he’s great in bed.” Dean winks.

“Ew,” Sam groans, her nose wrinkling. Devon edges closer to her.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Devon says to her in a loud stage whisper, his eyes still locked on Cas. Dean can’t see Cas behind him, but knowing his husband, he’d bet a hundred bucks that Cas is staring right back.

“Language,” Dean scolds, as if he hadn’t been swearing up a storm moments before.

“Uncle Dean is a witch. Cas is his familiar. They’re married. They do magic together. Sometimes Cas is a cat,” Sam spells out patiently.

“You’re not helping,” Devon moans.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Castiel attempts to reassure him. “Back in the eighteenth century when I -”

“ _Eighteenth_ ,” the boy wails. Dean digs an elbow into Cas’ ribs.

“Stop reminding me how old you are,” Dean huffs. Cas growls and noses at the back of Dean’s neck. Sometimes it takes a while for him to completely de-cat.

“Stop being gross,” Sam orders, rolling her eyes at her uncles. “Devon wants help.”

“Uh,” Dean hesitates. Sam has a habit of getting into bizarre scrapes that she turns to her uncles to help her out of, which usually results in a series of events they have to try and hide from her dad, which always leads to the elder Sam Winchester finding out and chewing off Dean’s head about irresponsible use of magic around his daughter, even though it’s usually Cas’ fault.

“Of course we’ll help,” Cas offers soothingly, and Dean elbows him in the ribs again.

“C’mon,” Dean sighs, motioning for the pair of teens to follow him into the living room.

The living room, like most of the house with exception of the kitchen, was decorated by Castiel. This meant the most bizarre mishmash of furniture and knick-knacks Dean has ever had the privilege of witnessing, since Cas simply picks up whatever suits his fancy at the time and shoves it into a room. Sometimes it’s a decrepit antique bookcase that reminds Cas of a house he lived in a century ago, like the one that’s deteriorating against the far wall of the living room, and other times it’s an ultra high-tech digital holographic projection clock that Cas says he saw in a comic book once, which currently resides on the mantel above the living room fireplace.

Dean watches Devon’s face as he takes in the room, which resembles an antique store or a pawn shop that exploded and scattered its debris inside their house. It’s always fun to see people’s reactions to the bottom half of a grandfather clock topped with a stack of books that serves as a side table, and the large ottoman upholstered in garish brown and orange plaid that Dean fondly refers to as one of Sam’s shirts repurposed as furniture. Devon’s wide eyes and slight gurgling noise is not a disappointment.

Samantha immediately plops herself down onto their couch, Dean settles into his beloved recliner, and Cas seats himself crosslegged on the ottoman. Sam gives Devon, frozen in the doorway, a fierce glare, and he obediently scrambles to join her on the couch. Sam pokes him in the side expectantly.

“So, um. I was. I was hoping. Well,” Devon stutters. His eyes keep flickering to Cas, who tilts his head curiously at the boy. “Ikilledmygirlfriendsbird,” he finally spits out.

“Dude,” Dean says, giving Devon a mournful look, “TMI.”

“Her _pet bird_ ,” Sam clarifies, with an accompanying eye roll. “Devon killed his girlfriend’s pet bird.”

“That’s… unfortunate,” Cas says carefully. Dean snorts. That was coming from a guy who regularly slaughters sparrows in their backyard in his feline form. Cas says it’s to keep his hunting skills sharp in case they are attacked by any determined supernatural forces, but Dean’s opinion is that he just thinks it’s fun to chase the feathery little bastards. Plus he enjoys showing off his sleek athleticism to Dean. Dean doesn’t complain.

“We don’t do zombie pets,” Dean warns. “Bad idea. Trust me.” He needs to sit that girl down and make her watch _Pet Sematary_. Sam’s been sorely negligent of his daughter’s pop culture education.

“I don’t think that would be very helpful anyway. He was eaten by a snake,” Sam reflects. She hastily clarifies, “the bird.”

Dean frowns. “How’d a snake get your girlfriend’s pet bird?”

“It’s her pet snake,” Devon explains.

“Your girlfriend has a pet bird _and_ a pet snake? That’s awesome,” Dean grins.

“Not anymore she doesn’t,” Sam points out.

“So your girlfriend’s pet bird is currently being digested by her pet snake,” Cas sums up. He presses his lips together and frowns thoughtfully. “What do you want us to do about it?”

“I… dunno…” Devon admits, his voice trailing off helplessly.

“We were hoping you would have some ideas,” Sam chimes in. She gets a far off look in her eyes and Dean tenses for trouble. “If we could just stop Snookie from eating Cherry in the first place,” she muses.

“Wait. Hold up. The snake’s name is _Snookie_?” Dean can’t help himself from latching onto that golden little nugget of information.

“Mel lost a bet,” Devon sighs. Dean is guessing that Mel is the aforementioned girlfriend.

“Yeah, that explains Snookie,” Sam snorts. “But she _did_ name Cherry. Which is also a dumb name. The frickin’ bird was green.”

“Language,” Dean corrects reflexively.

“Cherry does seem an odd choice for a green bird,” Cas agrees, nodding.

“Hey, can we please focus,” Devon begs. The three Winchesters in the room pause their ruminations on his girlfriend’s pet naming skills to stare at him.

“Have you considered being honest and telling your girlfriend that one of her pets is deceased?” Cas offers, pressing the tips of his fingers together and leaning his chin onto his thumbs, bright eyes trained on Devon.

“That’s what I said,” Sam mutters. Devon’s shoulders slump. Dean feels for him, he really does. He remembers how hard it was to tell Cas he lost the tattered old journal Cas devotedly kept as his last heirloom from his past days wandering the earth as an unbonded familiar, and that was just a _thing_ not a _living animal_.

“Ok, fine,” Dean sighs. “Like Sammy said, you just have to stop Snookie from eating Cherry.”

“Wow, that sentence sounds really weird when I’m hearing it instead of saying it,” Sam says. Cas turns his head to focus his intense gaze on his husband.

“Dean, I don’t think that’s advisable,” he warns.

“C’mon, what could go wrong? You’ll go with them and keep them out of trouble, I’ll stay here to anchor you, so you can pop back when you’re done.”

“It’s not getting back that I’m worried about, it’s arriving. Your - ah - aim has not proven to be entirely accurate,” Castiel argues.

“My aim is perfect,” Dean replies with a lewd smirk, pleased when Cas actually flushes a little.

“You’re still new to this kind of magic.”

“And you’re old. It’s a perfect combination.”

“Our compatibility is not the issue.”

“You’re saying I’m a crappy witch.”

“No…”

“You are a crappy witch, Uncle Dean,” Sam finally cuts in. “And Cas is a weird cat. Are you gonna help us or not?”

Dean scowls at her and Castiel sniffs. Sam turns on the pleading puppy eyes she definitely inherited from her father. Not even Cas can resist that look.

“We’re helping,” Dean answers, his tone firm. He looks pointedly at Cas. “Cat-up, babe.”

Castiel’s eyebrows scrunch together disapprovingly, but he obediently shifts and with a puff of magic and a rush of indrawn air, his human body is replaced by the black cat, who also looks like he’s trying to scrunch his eyebrows and glare disapprovingly. Cas’ magic is more powerful and easily accessible in this form, and Dean’s going to need the boost if he’s going to accomplish what he’s planning.

“Dude, you said your uncles _weren’t_ crazy,” Devon accuses, and he’s once again locked in a staring contest with Cas. Sam rolls her eyes and all three Winchesters proceed to ignore his comment. They’ve heard it all before.

“Twenty-four hours?” Dean asks Sam.

“Sure,” she shrugs.

“What,” Devon deadpans.

“Rwao,” Cas meows, and jumps into Dean’s lap.

Dean concentrates, stroking the bristling fur along Cas’ back, feeling the tingle of magic in his palms. Cas purrs under his touch and Dean wishes they had time right now to -

( _Dean_ ,) Cas’ voice in his head reprimands, cutting off his train of thought. Dean sighs and focuses.

The strange smell of toasted cheese and strawberry jam fills the air. Devon wrinkles his nose, Sam squeezes her eyes shut, Cas purrs louder -

The air fills with a loud popping noise, like a potato exploding in the microwave. (Dean knows this sound from experience. Cas, cooking, and modern technology don’t get along well.)

Dean blinks. The warm weight in his lap is gone, and the couch is empty. He nods proudly, and kicks back his recliner to wait.

~~

Sam cracks one eye open and looks around. She’s standing on the sidewalk of Ash Street, right in front of Mrs. Jenkins’ tidy little grey-and-maroon house, and it’s the middle of the night. Or, at the very least, it’s dark and she can see stars in the sky overhead. She tilts her head to look up.

“Huh,” she grunts.

“What the hell!” Devon shouts. Sam turns to look. He’s standing in the middle of the street, hunched over, hands on knees. Yeah, magic can be disorienting like that sometimes.

“You should probably get out of the street,” she calls. Her friend’s head jerks up, he looks around wildly and scrambles up onto the sidewalk next to her.

“Seriously, what the hell,” he hisses.

“I think Cas might have been right about Uncle Dean’s aim,” Sam shrugs. Castiel himself is sitting on the sidewalk, glaring up at the night sky, tip of his tail twitching angrily. Devon groans.

“You think he actually,” Devon gulps, and looks up at the sky, “sent us _back in time_?”

“Well, we’re not in Uncle Dean and Cas’ house at eleven in the morning, that’s for sure,” Sam points out. She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and tugs out her phone. Happily, it’s working. “According to this, it’s - midnight last night.” She sighs in realization. “The twenty-fourth hour, not twenty-four hours.”

Devon reaches out and tugs the phone out of her grip, squinting down at the numbers on the screen. Then he pulls out his own phone and does the same thing.

“What the hell,” he says again.

Sam grins and shrugs. It still amuses her how much magic freaks people out. Cas trots over to them, his tail still stiff and twitching, and he glares up at them. He meows authoritatively. Sam might not understand him the way Uncle Dean does, but his tone is clear. He’s taking them home.

“Aw, c’mon Cas. We might still be able to save Cherry, we don’t know what time he was eaten,” Sam points out. Devon gags at the reminder of the bird’s fate. Cas hisses, and Sam crosses her arms over her chest. “D’you want me to tell Uncle Dean exactly what happened to the pie on his birthday last year?” she threatens, lifting one eyebrow. Castiel narrows his eyes and glares. Sam shrugs a shoulder triumphantly. “Let’s go save Cherry.”

They are too late to save Cherry.

Devon sits on the step of Mel’s house, head in his hands moaning quietly. Sam pats his shoulder, and Cas awkwardly tries to bat at his arm with a paw. The graphic image of Cherry’s long green tail feathers disappearing down Snookie’s gaping jaws is not one she’s going to be able to forget any time soon.

“Sorry, Dev,” she comforts. Devon just makes a weird sound in the back of his throat that could mean anything from _thanks_ to _fuck off_. She looks at Cas, who approximates a shrug with his cat shoulders.

“So…” she says. “I guess that didn’t work. Let’s try again. How do we get back to Uncle Dean?” Cas yowls, _absolutely not_ , probably in response to her suggestion of another time travelling trip. “Do we just have to wait for time to catch up, or can you really just pop us back?” she asks the cat.

“What?” Devon yelps. “We’re either stuck here, or we’re relying on a cat to get us back?”

“We would only have to wait about ten hours or so and we’d catch up to our own timeline. I don’t think I’d call that _stuck_ , exactly,” Sam reasons. “And stop calling Cas a cat. He’s a witch’s familiar, and my uncle, and he’s gonna be pissed at you, and trust me, you don’t want that.”

Sure enough, Castiel is glaring at Devon with his laser focused stare, just as intimidating as a cat as it is as a human. He sniffs, and the fur on his back ripples. There’s a whiff of cheese, and another loud pop -

And Sam is blinking at Uncle Dean, apparently napping in his recliner, an open book abandoned on his chest.

“Dean,” Castiel growls, back to his usual tall, messy-haired, sweater-clad, human self. Dean jerks awake.

“Your aim is off,” Sam tells him.

“My aim is perfect,” Dean snaps sleepily. He sits up and rubs his eyes, peering at them. “Um. Why? Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean ‘where’d you go’?” Devon cries. “I thought you were supposed to be some great witch.”

“I said he was a witch, I never said he was great,” Sam mutters.

“Hey!” Dean scowls at her. He pushes himself off his chair and stands in front of Cas, carding his fingers through his husband’s tousled hair. Cas doesn’t stop frowning, but he also unconsciously leans his head into the touch. “Stop looking at me like that, babe,” Dean orders. Castiel frowns more fiercely. Sam’s torn between describing their familiar affection as _cute_ or _gross_.

“You were supposed to send us back twenty-four hours,” Castiel accuses. “We only got to midnight.”

“Ah.” Dean squirms.

“Well, try, try again, right?” Sam says cheerfully.

“No way,” Devon protests. “You and your uncle and your cat are all crazy.”

Castiel glares at the teenager. Dean squeezes his shoulder. Their eyes meet and Sam can see that strange vagueness in both of their eyes that means they’re communicating telepathically or something. She hates it when they do that.

“Twenty-four hours, right?” Dean says, holding onto Cas as he turns back into a cat, cradled in his arms.

Sam grins.

“Ugh -” Devon groans.

~~

Castiel sniffs at the bright green quilt covering the bed that takes up most of the small room they’re in. His heightened feline senses smell nothing familiar, although from his visual examination the room appears similar to the extra guest bedroom in his and Dean’s house. He frowns. That’s not a good sign for proving Dean’s competence and his own magical prowess.

“Can’t you stop them from doing that?” Devon groans. Cas shoots him a poisonous look, irritated by the boy’s stubborn skepticism. Sam shrugs. She peers out the window.

“I think this is Uncle Dean’s extra bedroom,” she observes, confirming Cas’ suspicions. He wonders where Dean sent them this time. Cas is already starting to plot how they’re going to keep Sam-the-elder from finding out about this latest magical mishap.

“So, what, he just popped us upstairs?” Devon asks. “You weren’t kidding about your uncle being kind of a crappy witch.”

Castiel hisses, and he can feel his ears flattening and the hair on his back standing on end. No one insults his husband, his mate, his witch. Even if they might be a little bit right about Dean’s skills. They’ve been experimenting with the limits of Dean’s magic, and teleportation, both through time and space, has been inconsistent, to say the least.

“Devon,” Sam scolds tiredly, “stop insulting my family before Cas tries to claw your eyes out. You wanted my help, and there’s no way you can’t tell me this isn’t at least a little bit cool.”

Devon eyes Castiel, and he hisses again, warningly.

“He wouldn’t really do that, would he?” the teen whispers, as if Cas can’t hear him from only a few feet away. Sam just smirks and shrugs, and Castiel feels a wave of affection for the girl. She often reminds him of Dean, right down to the vague threats of physical violence.

“Great,” Devon sighs. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and what he sees must not make him happy, because his shoulders slump and he reiterates, “ _Great_.”

Castiel is not quite sure where or when they are, so he determines it is worthwhile to investigate the rest of the house, just in case Dean really did just send them upstairs. The bedroom door is open a crack, so he pushes it open with his shoulder and squeezes out into the hall.

It’s their house, the hallways and bedrooms and staircase all the same, but at the same time it is not their house. There’s no chip in banister from where Dean dropped the headboard of their bed when they were trying to get it up the stairs, no half-finished stripes of blue paint in the living room from what Dean likes to call Castiel’s ‘artistic’ decorating phase, before he got frustrated with the paint and abandoned the project, doing his best to cover up the splotches of color with their mismatched furniture. Not to mention their furniture is nowhere to be found.

But it’s not until he gets to the kitchen that Castiel realizes exactly where they ended up. The kitchen is back to the tacky, outdated state it had been in when they first bought the house, before Dean’s extensive re-modeling. There is a calendar stuck crookedly onto the door of the refrigerator with a pineapple shaped magnet.

June, 2002, the calendar proudly proclaims.

Cas hears Sam and Devon enter the kitchen behind him.

“Twenty-four _years_ ,” Devon states flatly. Castiel’s tail whips back and forth across the linoleum (he’s so glad they replaced it with the beautiful tile that now graces their kitchen floor), and he glares at the numbers on the calendar, as if he could change them by staring hard enough. He’s annoyed with himself for letting his ire at the boy’s ignorant rudeness get the better of him and insisting on this second trip.

“Um. That’s… bad…” Sam admits.

“Twenty-four years,” Devon repeats. “We haven’t even been born yet!”

Castiel calculates in his head. 2002 would be six years before he met Dean, almost ten years before their wedding. He resists the urge to spy on the younger version of his mate.

An ear-piercing shriek shatters the tension. Castiel whirls, baring his claws and preparing to defend his niece. A blonde woman wearing a velour track suit, and carrying plastic bags of groceries in both hands stands in the doorway, screaming her head off at the two teenagers and a cat in her kitchen.

“Shit,” Sam mutters.

“I’m calling the police,” the woman shouts, dropping her groceries and rummaging around in her purse and pulling out a chunky Blackberry.

Castiel yowls authoritatively, and herds the teens towards the back door.

“Sorry,” Sam calls over her shoulder, “wrong year!”

“I’m not going to jail in 2002!” Devon pants as they sprint down the street.

“We’re not going to jail,” Sam manages to roll her eyes even while running. Castiel agrees. He reaches for his magic, and he can feel his bond with Dean pulling at him, even across the years. All he has to do is let go and the bond would snap him back to his mate, but he has to concentrate to pull Sam and her friend with him. He frowns and focuses.

“Cas!” Sam shouts suddenly, warning him of a car speeding fast down the road in his direction. Castiel’s concentration snaps with a pop and the smell of burnt cheese -

Castiel yowls as Devon’s feet trip over his small body and they both smack the ground hard. Castiel sniffs at the sudden, overwhelming, warm, wet smells that surround them.

“Well… we’re not in jail,” Sam says cheerily. Castiel shakes damp earth off himself as he climbs to his feet and squints around them.

They are in a jungle. A rainforest, to be exact, probably part of the Amazon if Castiel is identifying the surrounding flora correctly. Sam is studying a large red mushroom covered in yellow spots that Cas suspects is poisonous. He growls and bats her leg to warn her away.

“We’re going to die,” Devon states, matter-of-fact, as he brushes dirt off his cargo shorts and inspects a scrape on his knee from tripping over Cas.

“Geez, when’d you become such a downer, Dev.” She waves her phone at him. “Look! I’ve even got bars! We’re back in the right time at least, just the wrong place.”

“I feel so much better,” Devon drawls, flicking a large beetle off his shoe. Sam’s eyes light up and both Cas and Devon flinch. It’s a look they both know all too well.

““Hey, while we’re here do you think maybe we could find another parrot like Cherry?”

“First you want me to try and save my girlfriend’s pet bird using black magic, and now you want me to replace it with a wild jungle parrot?”

“You’re the one who keeps coming to me for help solving your problems.”

Devon closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Sam bumps her shoulder against his, and Devon cracks one eye open to glare at her.

“Hey, we’re in -” she looks down to check her phone, “Peru, cool. Can’t you just, I don’t know, appreciate it for a minute?”

Castiel takes her advice. He watches a small mouse-like creature scurry into the sparse underbrush, deciding not to pounce on it after a brief moment of indecision. He listens to the breeze ruffle the canopy overhead and the distant call of a monkey. He hasn’t travelled like this in a very long time, and while he would never resent his quiet life at home with Dean, sometimes he misses visiting new places. Besides, sending them through time and space will only help Dean hone his skills, so really, what’s the downside of a few more trips?

Devon looks like his is considering, too. His face twists into an expression of begrudging acceptance.

“Just so we’re clear, we’re relying on the cat who just sent us to a freaking honest-to-god, vines and monkeys and potentially tigers _jungle_ to get us home?”

“Witch’s familiar,” Sam corrects and Cas growls grumpily.

“How do I always let you talk me into things like this,” Devon sighs.

“You love it,” Sam grins. “What do you say, Cas?”

She looks down at him, her eyes twinkling in the Peruvian sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. Castiel hesitates, then rubs his side against her leg in acquiescence, and Sam chuckles.

“Knew it. You’re a pushover, Cas.”

He scowls defiantly at her.  

“We’re still trying to save Mel’s bird, though,” Devon reminds them.

“Sure!” Sam chirps.

“And no replacement birds,” he adds.

Sam smiles and shrugs.

Castiel’s head tilts in concentration as he feels for the warm pulse of Dean’s presence thrumming in his veins. With just a slight push of his magic -

~~

Dean frowns at the mud trailing off of both Cas and Devon when the trio pops back into the living room with a crack of air. That’s going to be a bitch to get out of the oriental rug. Also, it looks like he missed the mark again.

“Where’d you end up this time,” he groans.

“2002,” Sam says at the same time Devon replies, “Peru.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows.

“You got us back to this house exactly twenty-four years before now,” Castiel explains, “and then I was - ah - distracted on our return trip.”

“My fault,” Sam confesses, and Dean doesn’t doubt it for a minute.

“And you ended up in _Peru_?”

“In a freaking jungle,” Devon adds.

“Jesus. Your dad is gonna kill me,” Dean gripes. Cas looks guilty.

“You’ll get it right this time,” Sam soothes.

“I don’t think so,” Dean snorts, “like I’d send you off to god knows where again.”

“Like Cas would let anything happen to us,” Sam shoots back.

“I would never let anything harm Samantha or her friend,” Cas promises. His eyes shift suspiciously to the side as Dean stares him down. “Perhaps one more trip, it would be excellent practice for you, and the boy still hasn’t succeeded in rescuing the pet bird.”

“I have a name,” Devon snaps.

“As do I,” Castiel returns, narrowing his eyes at the teenager, who shrinks a little from his gaze.

Dean wishes he could say he was surprised. People always seem to think that Cas is the more reasonable and logical one in their relationship, when in reality some of the wild schemes that Cas comes up with are as bad as Sam’s.

“You’re a pushover, babe,” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. Sam snickers.

Castiel reaches forward and catches Dean’s wrist in one hand, tugging him forward and clasping his palm gently. His azure eyes meet Dean’s, shining bright with love and hope and a hint of rebellious mischief. Ok, so Dean’s a pushover, too.

“One more,” Dean assents, hoping Cas is coming up with some good ideas of how they’re going to get this one past his brother.

~~

A chicken clucks as it wanders around the living room, pecking at specks of dust and leaving a trail of feathers behind it.

“I think that was 1924,” Sam comments, plucking a feather out of her long brown hair.

Dean glowers at the chicken.

~~

“Missouri?” Devon frowns, inspecting the sign in front of the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.

“It’s the twenty-fourth state,” Sam informs him knowingly.

“How do you even know that?”

“I’m brilliant,” Sam sniffs.

~~

Cas yowls as he sprints away from the angry moose charging at his heels.

“Fix it! Fix it!” Devon screams.

~~

“I’m not sure this is much better,” Devon moans, sitting in Mel’s living room, Cherry the bird sitting on his head, cheerfully yanking at his hair.

Cas is snarling at Snookie the snake, who is determinedly coiling up his leg.

“Aw, Cas, no,” Sam exclaims as Cas tries to pull lithe form away from where it’s constricting around his limb. His teeth catch on the Snookie’s smooth scales and his jaws close automatically.

Cherry squawks loudly into Devon’s ear. Sam, Devon, and Cas all stare down at the limp form of the snake lying lifeless on the floor.

~~

“This isn’t so bad,” Sam says, sipping from a straw stuck into a bottle of pink lemonade that Devon is not entirely sure how she procured. She strokes Cas’ head and gazes out over the turquoise water of the ocean spread out in front of them, digging her toes into the fine white sand of the beach. Cas rolls over onto his side and leans into the warmth of her leg.

“Yeah, I guess,” Devon agrees, feeling the warm sand between his own toes. They watch the waves roll gently into the shore. “Where’d you get the lemonade?” Devon asks after a long moment.

“It’s cherry limeade,” Sam informs him. She holds out a second bottle. “Want one?”

Devon takes it. Cas purrs and starts planning a beach vacation for him and Dean.

~~

“This. Better. Work. Ow.” Devon grunts as Cherry casually bites down on his index finger and smacks him in the face with an outstretched wing.

Sam piles the largest, heaviest books she can find on top of Snookie’s sealed tank as the snake herself slithers around the bare tree branch inside and looks out at them curiously. Devon wrestles with the bird, trying to get him into his cage, an effort which Cherry is resisting with everything he’s got, a mass of writhing feathers, sharp claws, and nipping beak.

“ _I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts_ ,” Cherry shrieks loudly and off-key in his parrot’s parody of singing. Cas glares at the bird and his tail whips from side to side as he watches from his seat just outside the room, keeping his claws away from the pets.

Sam joins Devon and tries to gently coax Cherry into his enclosure with a tempting bite of dried apple. The bird snatches the treat, snapping his jaws down on Sam’s finger in the process, and promptly hops back out of the cage on onto Devon’s head once again.

“Ugh, you’re sure you want to save this little feathered monster?” Sam groans, making a grab for the bird, who hops away and cackles evilly.

Devon snags the feathery little body and pins Cherry’s wings down to his sides. The parrot squawks and snaps at his fingers, but Devon determinedly shoves him into the cage and Sam slams the door shut. Cherry glares at them from behind the bars. Devon finds a piece of wire to twist around the door and ensure there’s no means of escape.

“There. C’mon, he’s just a bird, he doesn’t deserve to be eaten,” Devon sighs, double checking Snookie’s enclosure for potential escape routes.

“That’s not a bird, that’s a demon in disguise. Snookie’s probably just trying to save us all from being murdered in our sleep,” Sam scowls. Cas mewls quietly in agreement.

“If you are murdered in your sleep by a small green parrot, I will come back and save you, just like Cherry,” Devon promises.

“You just want to time travel again,” Sam replies with a grin.

“I do _not_. I’m never eating grilled cheese again in my _life_ ,” Devon proclaims.

“You’re having fun. Admit it,” Sam prods. Devon snorts, but says nothing.

~~

“Don’t tell me,” Dean groans when the air cracks and two teenagers and a cat reappear in the living room. Devon is proud that he doesn’t even stagger this time.

“Wait!” Sam throws up a hand. She grins. “I think it worked this time.”

Dean blinks at her.

“Really?”

“What do you mean, ‘ _really’_ ,” Devon growls.

“I mean. Yeah! Of course,” Dean pastes on a charming smile that Devon can spot as fake from a mile away.

“You did very well, Dean,” Castiel assures his husband, smiling as he winds his arms around Dean’s waist. Sam and Devon glance at each other and share a grimace.

“Ok,” Sam proclaims, “well, I’ve had enough of the PDAs, and I think it worked, so we’re done here, right? Right.”

She grabs Devon by the wrist and drags him out of the house.

“Thank god,” Devon sighs as they head towards Mel’s house to check that the pets are safe and sound. “Samantha Winchester, I am never asking you for help again.”

“Liar.” Sam grins at him.

~~

Dean can feel his phone buzz in his back pocket, but he’s disinclined to check it while he has six feet of warm, affectionate husband in his lap and nuzzling at his neck. Cas, apparently, doesn’t share this opinion and he unabashedly reaches underneath Dean’s seat to pull the phone out of his pocket. Cas leans into his side and flicks the phone on. He chuckles and shows Dean the photo Sam texted to them.

Devon is scowling as Cherry the bird sits on his shoulder and bites his ear, Snookie the snake watching from safe inside her tank behind them.

Dean tugs the phone out of Cas’ hand and tosses it carelessly aside.

“How long do you think before they come back asking for another trip?” Dean wonders.

“At least a day,” Cas estimates.

“And how long before Sam finds out what happens?”

“I would give it a few hours.”

“Plenty of time, then.” Cas hums in agreement, once again pushing his nose into Dean’s neck. Dean smiles fondly at the residual cat-like habits and runs his fingers through Cas’ hair. “I still have to get you back for what you said in the kitchen earlier.”

“Mm-hmm,” the rumble of Cas’ voice in his chest almost a purr.

“Maybe later,” Dean concedes. He can feel Cas’ lips curve in a smug smile against his skin.

“How do you feel about going to the beach for a vacation?” Cas mumbles. “We could be gone before your brother comes knocking down our door.”

“Beach, huh?”

“Saint-Tropez,” Cas suggests.

“And how’re we getting to Saint-Tropez in the next few hours?”

“You’ve been practicing all day.”

“And you trust me to get us both to wherever the hell Saint-Tropez is in one shot?” Dean snorts.

“France,” Cas informs him. He’s silent for a moment. “Perhaps I should seduce you first. Just in case it takes longer than expected to reach our destination.”

Dean definitely agrees with that assessment, and accordingly he pulls Cas down for a kiss.

Somewhere across the room a chicken scratches at the oriental rug.


End file.
